


this machine kills fascists

by anenglishwolf



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: American folk music, Bucky/guitar, Bucky/music, Fascism, Folk Music, M/M, anti-fascist!Bucky, bucky/political activism, collective action, political!Bucky, woody guthrie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anenglishwolf/pseuds/anenglishwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's back in New York, his brain allegedly fixed up nice and good as new.  But he still needs to heal, and music soothes the soul.  He's recapturing who he used to be, keeping his distance from the Avengers and especially Steve.  And he participates in open mic nights, busks a little, and immerses himself in the American history and music that used to speak to him so deeply.  It used to speak to Steve, too.  Maybe it can draw them together again, eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this machine kills fascists

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly written for the title. Almost solely written for the title. Woody Guthrie used to put a sticker, This Machine Kills Fascists, on his guitar. It seemed appropriate for Bucky.
> 
> All of you fascists bound to lose, bound to lose:  
> I said, all of you HYDRA fascists bound to lose!
> 
> Also, Woody's position on copyright: "This song is Copyrighted in U.S., under Seal of Copyright # 154085, for a period of 28 years, and anybody caught singin it without our permission, will be mighty good friends of ourn, cause we don't give a dern. Publish it. Write it. Sing it. Swing to it. Yodel it. We wrote it, that's all we wanted to do."
> 
> WHAT A MAN PEEPS WHAT A MAN.
> 
> Various titles and references from either 'All You Fascists Bound To Lose' or "Tear The Fascists Down'.
> 
>  
> 
> ETA: oh man, I forgot to say, BUCKY TUNES UP HIS GUITAR USING ONE OF HIS METAL FINGERS AS A TUNING FORK! Yeah. Of course he does.

There's a lull in the air, as the coffeeshop settles down, applause still vibrating through dust-motes from the last performer. It's the weekly music open mic night. Right here, in an independent left-leaning bookstore in New York City, there are more beards, chai lattes and guitars per square foot than... there's a lot, okay. There's a lot. 

Sally, working the cash register, looks up to see if the next volunteer from the sign-up list is on the horizon. But there's no sign of life. There's just people sipping their drinks, and discussing Studs Terkel vs. Noam Chomsky – who'd kick whose ass in super-powered spandex and tights? Well, that's okay. A few candidates always bottle out, and a quiet period generally means more buyin' and drinkin'. Good for business, good for tips.

But no, actually they do have a volunteer, it seems. Someone maneouvring around a packed table of knitting, gabbing alt-babes. It's a guy, with a pretty semi-acoustic held up high enough to avoid bashing anyone in the head. Held in a gloved hand, which, okay, is going to make fingerpicking a little difficult. It isn't cold in or out, not in this summer heatwave. But maybe he'll take them off when he settles down by the amps in the musician's corner, and plays.

It's not the most distinctive thing about him. That would be his face, which he borrowed from an angel. (The alt-babes might disagree. One pats his ass as he rounds the table, wrestling with his guitar, and he turns to give her a very impassive look. It seems to do the trick, and those irrepressible young biddies settle down a bit.)

His hair's pulled back in a ponytail, and it's a little ragged and wild. A few strands have achieved liberation, and fall in his face as he sits down in front of the coffeehouse crowd. He leans into the mic and says, “Hello, I'm James. This is a Woody Guthrie song, 'All You Fascists Bound To Lose'. Thanks for listening.”

He strums a few opening chords, then frowns, like it doesn't satisfy him somehow.

And yeah, Sally notices, _then_ he pulls off his gloves as a few people clap politely, and the alt-babes catcall. She's busy right now, some asshole wanting hemp milk just because they don't do it, and a little old lady bringing back her americano with complaints of _sissy weak-ass modern joe you kids drink these days_. But out of the corner of her eye, she catches a gleam of silver, as a little discordant fiddling and a few screeches indicate that the guy – James – is tuning up.

A gleam of silver, and it tweaks at something in her mind. But the music starts up, and she turns back to yell for the latest coffee order.


End file.
